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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28776111">All That Soulmate Bullshit</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_beating_heart/pseuds/Still_beating_heart'>Still_beating_heart</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bipolar Ian Gallagher, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:41:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,443</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28776111</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_beating_heart/pseuds/Still_beating_heart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not like he actually fuckin’ believed it or anything.  Turn on a goddamn magnet and suddenly there’s your soulmate?  Yeah, fuckin’ okay.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>All That Soulmate Bullshit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Prompt: In the future, romantic attraction is literal: each person is fitted with an electromagnetic bracelet which, they claim, will pull you to your soulmate. It’s the day they turn the magnets on, and you’re waiting. (Reedsy)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Trying To Fight Fate</p><p> </p><p>It’s not like he actually fuckin’ believed it or anything.  Turn on a goddamn magnet and suddenly there’s your soulmate?  Yeah, fuckin’ okay.  </p><p>And it’s not his fault that he still feels some sinking bullshit in his stomach when they turn on the damn magnets for his group and nothin’ fuckin’ happens.  Especially when Iggy gets picked off, and Mandy gets picked off, and all the fuckin’ other brothers and cousins and fuckevers that are always mooching around here, and for fuck knows what ‘cause it ain’t exactly like this house is full of love or food or whatever other things that humans need to survive.  Guns.  And drugs.  That’s what this house is full of.  </p><p>Six months into this soulmate bullshit and Mickey’s still got nothin’ to go on.  Not a tug, not a jolt, not that little wiggling sensation like his fingers were full of worms like Iggy said.  Which is supposedly what it feels like when your soulmate is miles away instead of just down the block.  Then the sensations grow the closer you get to your soulmate, they spread, tingle, make you all warm and fuckin’ cozy or fuckever.  And then the actual magnet in the bracelet takes over when it’s close enough.</p><p>It’s all just bullshit.  Is what it is.  Exactly what Mickey expected.</p><p>One year passes.  Mickey tries to bust off the bracelet.  In any way imaginable.  In all the ways imaginable.  But the fuckin’ thing won’t budge.  Fuckever this shit is made of, it ain’t breakable, burnable, meltable, it’s shatterproof, smash-proof all that shit.  But Mickey’s hand ain’t any of those things.  In fact, now it’s burned, broken, melted, shattered, and smashed.  So probably gonna be a little misshapen for the rest of his life.  Fuckin’ great.  At least it’s his left hand and that isn’t the hand he jerks off with.  Something that he’ll apparently be doing a whole lot of if he doesn’t have some soulmate to take it home to.  </p><p>And go fuckin’ figure, Terry’s having a field day with it.   Reminding Mickey every chance he gets of just how unlovable and how much of a fuck-up he is.  He’s such a fuck-up he doesn’t even get to have the basic life fulfillment of a soulmate.  </p><p>Fuck Terry.</p><p>Mickey turns nineteen and the bracelets have been activated for two damn years now.  He’s finally got enough cash saved up to pay first month’s rent and deposit and security and all the fuckin’ shit that landlords rake a person over the coals for.  So he’s fuckin’ leaving.  For good.  And he sure in the fuck is not staying in cold, windy, shitty Chicago.  </p><p>Problem is, he’s walking down the street on the way home from his last con, and his entire damn arm suddenly starts to feel like it wants to rip itself out of socket and toss itself towards something that the bracelet is dictating.</p><p>“Great fuckin’ timing,” Mickey mumbles towards the beaten up thing that’s still nice and firm and tight around his wrist.  He takes a slow drag off his cig, gets his bearings for a minute while ignoring the buzzing in his wrist.  It sends his heart into a hard thudding rhythm that he’s just going to ignore because this whole thing is so fucking stupid.  There’s no way a magnet can lead you to a person you’re going to fall instantly in love with.  </p><p>Bunch of buildings.  Yeah, well that’s what Chicago is.  So what?  Just start knocking on doors until someone answers and is all ‘mine too!’.  Fuck that shit.  Mickey tosses his cig butt on the sidewalk and starts bustling towards the L.  He’s gonna get on, he’s gonna get to the very last stop in the city then he’s gonna hitchhike his way to the coast or some shit.  Maybe live in Oregon or fuckwhere that isn’t here.  Long as he doesn’t get stuck in the corn belt or the desert states he’s fine with anywhere.</p><p>‘Cept he’s standing on the platform of the L when the damn tingling starts to fuckin’ hurt.  Feels like his fingers are on fire and fighting the pull of the magnet seems really fuckin’ futile.  He tries anyway.  Taking a step towards the train when it screeches to a halt.  His arm stays behind.  Outstretched towards the stairs he just came up.  Damn it.  Fuck this shit.</p><p>The lady next to him is smirking, like he’s a complete fucking idiot for even attempting to fight it, “fuck you lookin’ at?” </p><p>“Some moron who is trying to fight fate,” she responds with a shrug, brushing past him to get on the L.  </p><p>He flips her off when she takes her seat and his entire body has come to a complete and total halt because of the damn magnet, “jesus fucking christ, alfuckingright,” he hollers at the bracelet, ignoring any and all reactions from the fuckers around him in this shithole city.</p><p>Mumbling to himself, cursing out the bracelet, and soulmates, and basically everything the entire time he follows his stupid magnet all the way to a fucking insane asylum, “wow, fun prank,” when he comes to a halt at the bottom of the big ass cement steps leading into a creepy fucking institution that probably hasn’t been updated in like a century.  Complete with straight jackets and electroshock therapy he’s sure, “is this some kind of fucking hint?  Yo Mickey your soulmate is a lifelong admittance to a nut ward.  Great.  Real fuckin’ funny for a goddamn two year build-up,” rolling his eyes as he starts to walk down the steps only to have his arm shoot out again.  So he just sits down.  And gives up.  The fuck’s the point of this shit?  If he had some kind of fuckin’ soulmate in the nut ward then he don’t want him.  And if this was just some kind of fuckin’ set up to get him admitted, then they’ll be here soon enough to drug him and haul him inside.</p><p>He’s still sitting there as the sun is setting, as the city is still loud and full of pollution and fuckever that whole thing about sleeping cities is, it’s fuckin’ bullshit too.  Cities don’t sleep.  They keep on moving all night long.  It’s fucking irritating.  Oh, and his arm is out behind him still trying to get him to go into the fucking building.  Well, he ain’t going in the fucking building.  So fuck this.  </p><p>The door swings open at like fuckever o’clock when his arm is numb and his ass is numb and he’s fuckin’ hungry but he figures they’ll feed him some garbage when they admit him.  So he waits.  And assumes they’ll just swoop right in and put a needle in his arm.</p><p>But no.  That isn’t what happens.  Someone sits down next to him.  And his arm drops from where it’s been hovering in the air for hours, all pins and needles and shit, and it clinks together with the bracelet on the arm of the guy who just sat down next to him.</p><p>Mickey braces himself for a shoe to drop, for a boot to connect with his kidneys, for someone to piss in his cheerios, for someone to shit on his parade.  Not that he’s got his hopes up, it isn’t like he believed this shit in the first place.  Either way, if he’s not being dragged here by some stupid ass magnet for the purposes of being committed, then he’s here for whoever this goon is beside him.  And this goon has long legs.  Really long legs.  And he smells like bleach and cheap institution soap.  But if he’s out here and no alarms are going off, and no one’s wrapping him in a straight jacket then he must be an employee or it must be his big fuckin’ release day.  </p><p>Fuck.  Well that would make sense if it was his release day.  Fuckin’ institutions like this and prisons, military, and boarding schools all turn off the bracelets until the day the person is released.  So guess that this kid has been locked up in here for like two fuckin’ years.  And ain’t nobody out here to pick him up.  Fuck.</p><p>Mickey’s hand rises, scrubs over his face as he prepares himself to look over.  It’s inevitable.  He’s gonna have to sooner or later.  </p><p>Everything he’s heard people say and everything he’s witnessed from his siblings, everything he read and all the bullshit he told himself; well it sure didn’t prepare him for how he’d fuckin’ feel when he does look over his shoulder to lock eyes with his supposed soulmate.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I mostly just wanted to see if i could still write Mickey.  My professional opinion is: meh.  </p><p>I don't know if this is going anywhere but it was saved in drafts and had an expiration date so I had to post or lose.  Thanks friends :)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Kudos or fuck along now.  :)</p><p>I'm sort of on <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/stillbeatingheart">tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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